It's 10 years today since we lost our friend.
But
if anyone epitomised the saying “tears of a clown”, it was Hester. When he was
up, he was very up, and his buoyancy was contagious – for the band and its
audience. When he was down, his gloom could be read on his face, and he would
withdraw into his own black world. Towards the end of Crowded House, Neil Finn
wrote a song called ‘Black and White Boy’ about someone who could charm a room
full of people, then descend into “the depths of despair”. Hester was an open
book, disarmingly honest. “People say ‘Black and White Boy’ is about me,” he
said. “I’d be rapt if it was.”
Paul
joined Split Enz in 1983 when the band was on its last legs, and he cheered
them all up. He wrote an exuberant song about the thrill of joining his heroes:
‘This is Massive’. After the last Enz tour, he travelled the world with Neil
Finn looking for a record deal, handing out a tape of raw songs that included
one called ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’. A highlight of the trip was going to a New
York disco, where he had his foot trodden on by Diana Ross and shook Andy
Warhol’s “cold fish” hand. They got signed to a record label, and with bassist
Nick Seymour lived in cramped quarters in Los Angeles to make their debut
album, Crowded House.
He
had been a drummer since the age of five; just like the Finn brothers he was
dragged out at his parents’ parties to do an item. He described his mother Anne
as “a jazzer, a drummer, a right-hander, a smoker,” and admired her skill: “Dad
couldn’t hold a tune, but ol’ Anne could swing.” His own style came from
skiffle, a shuffle was his favourite rhythm and his two idols were
unpretentious masters: Ringo Starr and Charlie Watts. At those parties he
played along to Creedence Clearwater Revival, then went back to bed. He always
liked playing drums after a nap, and it often annoyed his band members when he
wanted to stop recording in the middle of a song and insist on a cuppa and a
joint. Cups of tea and, it must be said, pot, were his favourite indulgences
but, unusually for a rock star, he was also obsessively tidy in the kitchen.
With freshly laundered tea towels and the house vacuumed, he was in heaven: he
could have a lie-down and take in more tea and lots of TV. He even had three
small TV sets tattooed on his shoulder.
At
the age of 10 he wrote in a school essay that his musical ambitions were “to
become a leading drummer in the world and to have a successful pop group.” He
also admitted, “I act stupid to try and impress my friends. I would rather be a
quiet little kid who did a couple of funny things but not act stupid.”
In
concert or in live interviews he could take things right to the edge and
occasionally beyond. A couple of times he did a striptease on stage, and once
on a children’s TV pop show, when asked to provide a question for a quiz, he
suggested “Guess which member of Crowded House isn’t circumcised.” There was
never a danger of Crowded House taking themselves seriously with Paul around,
because he never took himself seriously – and he was usually the butt of his
own jokes.
Two
of his eccentric, catchy songs were included on Crowded House albums: ‘Italian
Plastic’ and ‘Skin Feeling’. But by the time of the band’s fourth album Together Alone, the whole lifestyle had
become a grind for Hester. He said he had “leaving phobia”, not wanting to go
on tour. In 1994, after much reluctance, he agreed to promote the album with a
world-wide tour – only to dramatically announce one night in Atlanta that this
was his last show. His then-partner Mardi Summerfield was pregnant with the
first of their two daughters, and they both caught the next plane home to
Australia. The band struggled on, but never recreated the chemistry of which he
had been a crucial element.
Hester
had been seeking help for some time. “I recommend therapy to every man over 30,”
he said. “By then you’ve got some emotional baggage, and you owe it to yourself
to get rid of it. Your mates can’t help you.” Interviewing him, one just set
the tape recorder and let him lie back, drink tea and unwind. There was a lot
of pathos to all his stories, and in an inarticulate profession he was among
the most quotable. He reminded me of Spike Milligan: all heart, outrageously
funny, but with the saddest of eyes. At Crowded House’s farewell show, in front
of the Sydney Opera House and 200,000 people, he leant over his kit during ‘Don’t
Dream It’s Over’, tears flowing onto his snare drum.
After
Crowded House, he hoped to get a TV show off the ground that mixed music and
humour; an entertainment icon in Melbourne, he was made to be an Ocker Jools
Holland. A pilot series of Hessie’s Shed was
screened (“Every man needs a shed,” he would say, preferably one with a
teapot), and among its guests were Neil Finn, John Clarke and the Topp Twins.
But this second career never took off, and neither did his post-”Crowdie” bands
such as the Largest Living Things. He pottered in his shed recording other
bands and made regular appearances on radio sports shows. Last Saturday Hester
took his dogs for a walk in a Melbourne park and his body was found several
hours later. Police confirmed the circumstances were not suspicious.
*
Originally
published in the Sunday Star-Times
(New Zealand), 3 April 2005
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